I may but old, but you're... who am I kidding.. I'm old.

So, I have decided that I will not in fact remain 35 for the rest of my life as I threatened to do so in an earlier post. I have indeed decided that I will just repeatedly turn 25 for the rest of my life. So, to recap; I am fast approaching the tenth anniversary of my twenty-fifth year of life with vigor and complete and utter disregard for scientific fact.  I have since therefore concluded that, if in fact I do not come up with a ploy to make this next birthday exceptionally memorable; I will surreptitiously have an inordinate amount of 25th birthdays to come up with a grandiose way to make my mark on the world.  I shall not fret, as I will have until my last birthday celebration to make this happen.  Besides, I have serendipitously figured out, that the sooner I make it happen, the sooner I will turn 26.  As long as I have completely forgettable birthdays, I don't have to age!  

Let them eat cheese fries!

I'm not exactly sure WHY the country is going so screwy, but I have a theory. (You know this is gonna be a humdinger)  I believe it has something to do with the fact that you can't go into a diner and ask for cheese fries anymore.  Hear me out...  The American 'health kick' that everyone seems to be on, is not helping ANYONE.  Everyone I see is miserable looking, snotty, perturbed, or just downright mean.  Besides the fact they all look malnourished, it still took me awhile to figure out why.  I like my happy fat America.  Why does everyone hate on the cheese fry?  I'll tell you why.  They're STARVING!  All of these people on their little healthy diets with no carbs, no fat, no sugar, no taste, eating nothing but lettuces and raw vegatables cannot possibly claim they live happy existences.  What happened to enjoying life and living it to the fullest???  Why is it that ordering fried mushrooms in your favorite restaurant earns you a dirty look?  It's not like I'm committing murder here.  My entire diet does NOT consist of junk food.  But, hey, why can't I get it when I do want to cheat the healthy lifestyle?  These fascists are making it more difficult to satisfy my naughty cravings. 

I'm almost getting to the point that if they don't bring me my cheese fries, I may just buy myself a bucket of lard and eat it with an ice cream scoop just to spite them.  There will be melting, sticky grease dripping from my sweat glands.  They will have to place a roll of paper towels underneath me before I sit down, just to soak up the oily mess that I will emit from every pore on my body from consuming such large quantities of hydrogenated oils and trans fat.

Ok, even that last thought made ME throw up a little in my mouth; but come on...  A little portion of unhealthy can go a long way and help a person have good mental health.  Sometimes those things we know are bad for us seem to make things better; like you've fought the law, and YOU won.   So, random rambling completed.  I'm off to go turn on the fryer and heat up the cheese sauce.

If you're happy and you know it, go to hell...

I would like to report a crime.  Someone has stolen my twenties, and I want them back.  As I precariously perch on the edge of my mid-thirties, I want a refund.  Seriously.  Where in the world did my twenties disappear to?  I have begun sprouting grey hairs, my eyes are developing crow's feet, and my laugh lines are exceptionally pronounced.  Who okayed this process?  I'm going to start a protest on Mother Nature.  Let's all march on the Fountain of Youth and demand our lost years back! 

I've had some fun in my life.  I can't possibly complain about that.  But who says that getting older means getting wiser?  I certainly don't feel any wiser than when I jumped out of an almost perfectly good airplane, or bungee jumped from a crane, or got drunk at Mardi Gras and kissed some random Marine on leave.  Ok, so I may have settled down some, but wiser?  I think not.  I still act a fool on a regular basis, and I still think I'm hip to the latest trends.  So, why do I feel so passe? 

Maybe it's because I'm not crushing on the latest "IT" guy in the tabloids.  Maybe it's because I'd rather stay home and watch a movie than go out and close the bars.  Or, maybe it's because I've become an old fuddy-duddy.  Man, my mom has a more exciting lifestyle than me!  (No offense, Mom. I'm actually jealous of your vitality!)  The train to Funkytown has left, and I'm still at the station. 

Well, bollocks to that I say.  My thirty-fifth birthday will be something I plan to remember; unlike the last fifteen birthdays that have gotten lost somewhere in my archaic memory.  I refuse to have another forgettable day.  I need to do something that will put all of my other less-than-memorable birthdays to shame.  Maybe I'll do something reminiscent of my short lived college days like a toga party or mud-volleyball.  Maybe I could combine them and have a mud-toga party!  Then again, maybe not.  So what do I do? Where do I go?  (insert your comments/suggestions here) 

I have five days to come up with something spectacular and memorable.  I'll let you know what I decide.  Whatever it is, I refuse to be mundane and have it as just another day.  Although I DO realize, that technically, I'll only be one day older than I was the day before.  I officially call it quits on aging.  I will remain 35 forever, hereafter.  You can't make me grow up.

Santa Claus is coming to town... And he's bringing ice cream.

Yes, you read it correctly.  Ice cream.  I have officially entered the twilight zone.  I mean, it IS August right?  So, maybe someone can explain to me why our ice cream truck is playing christmas carols instead of "Pop Goes the Weasel".  It started out playing Rudolph, and I thought maybe I was just losing my mind or something.  But sure enough, the August tribute to all things Santa continued.  Maybe it's to remind us of cooler weather, and ice cream is cold, so.... I don't know.  It sounds like they're reaching just a bit.  Don't you think?

Yep, that's really all I had to say.  Just had to write it down now, because no one would believe me later!

Day 107, The dishes are calling, but nobody's home...

So, I've been on kind of a cooking kick lately.  We've been trying to cut back on needless expenditures to put more money in the bank.  Being a self proclaimed foodie, I have taken to this quite well, having meals planned out for the upcoming week, and rarely deviating from them.  I have found, however, one fatal flaw to this master plan; that would be the growing pile of dishes.  My mother will be laughing at this statement, since we all know that payback's a bitch.  But, come on people!  Is it really too much to ask that you RINSE a single dish?  Of course, I do realize that's asking a lot, since most of the dishes don't even find their way to the sink without my assistance.

I must plan my attack on this carefully, for fear the natives will  run away, screaming back to their little holes, never to be seen again.  I could indeed threaten to starve the little buggers out of their nests, but  there must be a keener approach to the dilemma at hand.  Assigned after-dinner chores might work, but I fear that might cause more problems, as one child may drag out the first part, making the second one have to stay up late to finish the rest.  And, if I just made one of them take care of everything per night, I'd still end up with one kid not getting to bed until 2 am on a school night.  Hmm, maybe I passed my procrastination onto them?  I didn't realize this was genetic. 

I could theoretically make them fend for themselves, but who would actually win there?  Oscar Mayer, that's who.  They would end up eating nothing but hot dogs, sandwiches, and frozen pizza every night.  I'd ultimately have to roll their bulbous bodies to the bus stop each morning.  Doesn't sound too appealing to me.

So, I suppose it's going to take some effort to get them into some sort of semblance of a daily routine with the dishes.  I WILL be victorious in the end, albeit bruised and battered along the way.

Day 100, No words can describe...

I will try my best to explain the happenings of the past week and a half without massive confusion.  I have many excuses for why I haven't posted recently, and nobody really wants to hear me complain about getting the kids all set for school, and getting my lease car inspected and having furniture delivered... It's pretty self explanatory there.  The one thing I wasn't counting on was termites.  Yeah, you read correctly. Termites.

Apparently, I was lucky enough to escape the invasion for the five years I lived here before, but termites can infest your house during monsoon season because of the wind and rain.  Who knew??? Certainly not me.  Last Tuesday, after having my yard sprayed for pests, I went back to bed.  An hour and a half later, my oldest daughter woke me, freaking out about a bunch of bugs that looked like flying ants in the hallway between her room and the other kids' rooms.  She's prone to overreacting about bugs, so begrudgingly, I got up to investigate "the problem".  I will admit, she had every right to be freaking out.  There had to be more than a hundred bugs in the small hallway, and another fifty or so in the kids' bathroom.  I must also admit, I freaked too.  Who wouldn't?!?!?!

As I fought off convulsions, I hastily called my pest control service and screamed at the woman who answered the phone.  She quickly said I would have someone back at my house by 1 pm... It was only 10 am.  Um, SO not okay.  So, I decided the best way to get through the fiasco while waiting for my knight in shiny bug-killer, was to vacuum the little freakish flying ants up.  As I vacuumed the hall and moved into my youngest daughter's bedroom, I turned and looked back into the hallway.  Not only were there still bugs there, but they MULTIPLIED.  Yes, they appeared out of nowhere.  They weren't coming out of the vacuum.  I could see their bodies in the canister.  I'll leave it to the imagination as to the colorful words that were escaping my pie-hole at that moment in time.  Where were they coming from?  Luck was on my side, because my knight in shiny bug-killer showed up by 10:30 AM.  My savior.  He, like I, had make the initial assumption that the bugs were indeed flying ants.  But upon taking a closer look, he identified them as "Termite Swarmers". 

Okay, when somebody uses any word derivative of SWARM, I'm gonna freak the crap out.  I'm thinking that at any moment my house is going to cave in on me.  We stare at the carpet trying to find the source.  I finally realize they are actually popping OUT of the carpet from underneath.  This realization then induces my freaked-outedness.  He sprays the carpet, but tells me I need to contact the company that actually "protected" my house in the first place. 

So, I go crazy searching through my homeowners manual, and guess what?  The termite jerks didn't put their number in the book! At this point I'm approaching max velocity.  I call the builder's emergency number after getting a recording from the regular number.  They tell me that they are only there for "after-hours" emergencies.  Needless to say, I went a little bipolar on them and they said they would have the area manager contact me.  Lucky for him, he called me back in record time.  It's amazing what you can accomplish with a combination of crying and screaming like a banshee hopped up on amphetamines.

So, Mr. I-Know-Everything calls me and tells me this is just a product of the monsoon, and these are indeed NOT the wood eating termites.  They are in fact, the BREEDING termites.  This information has now put me into full horror movie mode.  Had I not been hyperventilating at the time, I may not have heard him tell me that since they didn't have a food source, they would die in the next eight to ten hours.  Again I say, lucky for him.  Unfortunately, I spent the next seven hours vacuuming up every bug that popped up through my carpet.

Thankfully, what he told me was actual fact, because the creepy crawlies were gone well before I went to bed.  I am still having moments of the heebie-jeebies, but I'll survive to see another day; providing my house doesn't collapse on me in the mean time.

Day 92, I'm not weak, only half of me is.

So, after a day of the Beastmaster pushing my body into positions it was never meant to be in, I've had an epiphany.  My entire left side of my body is protesting the improvements.  We spent yet ANOTHER day working out my shoulders, chest and abs, and I've learned, that when it comes to the left side of my body; it's on permanent strike.  The saddest part is, it's visible.  I sit in an upright position flexing my "core", and the left side of my gut literally sticks out farther than my right.  Ummmm, say wha???  I kid you not.  I am lopsided muscularly.  I am a freak of nature.  Something must be done.  I wonder if there's a surgery or something out there to correct my misaligned muscles.  Because certainly my workouts aren't cutting the mustard. 

By now, I have six-pack abs.  They're just hidden by the keg sized fat I lovingly call "Bubba" on top of them.  That comment got a laugh out of the Beastmaster while he was trying to catch his breath from whatever exercise we had just completed.  Ha!  I outdid him in the aerobic stuff!  (I don't care that he has asthma)  Who's the bitch now, mister???  I would guess that it would still be me, because he's built like a brick poop-house and I'm built like a fat straw-house.  Any minute now the big, bad wolf is gonna come blow my weak house down.  And then where will I be?  Fat and homeless; that's where I'll be. 

So, suffice it to say, I'm going to have to take matters into my own hands and actually go to the gym on days I don't have personal trainer appointments.  Woe is me.  Who'da thunk that the backside-kicking I've been receiving twice a week wouldn't cut it.  Oh, my shoulders and chest are getting more defined.  Whoopee.  After all of the personal, physical attacks on my abs, I'd have thought I see some sort of difference.  There I go again thinking.  I guess there's no escaping the ineveitable aerobics to come.